


Driftwood

by Jellyfax



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Dream Magic, First Love, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, Growing Up, Growing Up Together, Kid Fic, M/M, Mild Smut, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-22 17:26:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4844036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jellyfax/pseuds/Jellyfax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b><i>Like a plank of driftwood Tossed on the watery main, Another plank encountered, Meets, touches, parts again; So tossed, and drifting ever, On life's unresting sea, Men meet, and greet, and sever, Parting eternally.</i></b> - Edwin Arnold</p><p>Two boys with an unfortunately entwined destiny meet many times, but only when one of them is asleep. Little do they know what a profound affect their burgeoning friendship will have on their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. J.S.

 

John rather loved the sea, he had grown up with the sound of it lulling him to sleep in dim twilight of dusk, and the saline smell of it waking him when his mother opened up the window in the mornings. It was vast and majestic, and as much as he loved it, John was also terrified of it, for he could not swim. His mother had scolded him for refusing to learn, but he had a timid disposition, and after a time his mother simply gave up on that point entirely. He did, however, like to walk down to the beach on a warm afternoon on his own. His mother would always make sure that he promised to be back before the tide turned, and he always was. He was particularly fond of the caves that one could find when the tide was barely a dark line on the horizon. There John could find all sorts of curiosities; flotsam and jetsam, seashells, even fossils from time to time. He had a morbid curiosity when it came to these items. He collected a whole manner of them in a small wooden box in his room; bits of wood, fragments of sea glass, curiously coloured, or shaped shells. If it was strange and beautiful, John would collect it for himself.

There was one particular afternoon though, where he stumbled upon something stranger than usual. There were several outlying caves that few people frequented. They held the rarest treasures of all, so John would set off early just to get to them and back before the tide came back in. This afternoon he trod carefully as he could through over the barnacles and seaweed-slick rocks when he heard something. A strange whimpering sound, not unlike the sounds he himself made on particularly stormy nights. Treading very carefully John made his way towards the sound. As he turned a corner the noise stopped abruptly. Somewhere in the shadowed area just beyond the reach of the light from the cave’s maw came a small snuffle. John frowned ad stepped closer. In the darkness he could just about see the ragged edges of some poorly kept clothes. The owner of those clothes was a young boy, not much older than himself, with long dark hair that fell over his face, concealing his features.

“Hullo?” He said questioningly.

“Get away!” The boy cried, his accent thick, something northern, although John could not pinpoint exactly where.

John took a tentative step backwards. “I beg your pardon, I did not mean to startle you.”

“Startle me? You didn’t bloody startle me, this place did! Where am I?”

He frowned at the boy. “You are in a cave, in Kent.”

The boy gaped. “Kent! The seaside place?”

“Yes.”

Gingerly, the boy got to his feet and peered around to the mouth of the cave to see the sand beyond. “I’ve never been to the seaside before, not a proper seaside. All the sea near us is full of boats and coal. No fancy folks eating ice cream in their bathing suits.”

“But you are here right now.” John replied, very matter-of-factly.

“Not really, I can’t be.” The boy said, wrinkling his nose in a way that made John want to laugh terribly. “I was out all last night, and I was tired so I took a kip under the stairs, so Mam wouldn’t notice. One minute I’m there, under the stairs, the next I’m here. In Kent.”

“Well since you’re here, why don’t you come home with me? I’m sure Mother would not mind one bit to setting an extra seat for lunch.” It was only polite to at least offer luncheon to visitors, his Mother had always said so.

“I can’t! I have to get back! If I’m not back when Mam gets home, she’ll have my hide!”

“Oh, well then, we shall just have to work out how to get you home!”

The boy looked at him suspiciously. “Why are you helping me?”

John’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Why would I not?”

“I’m not used to people helping me, s’all.”

“Oh … well first of all, where _is_ your home?”

“Goole.”

John looked at his feet guiltily. “I … I’m not certain I know where that is.”

The boy snorted. “No one does. It’s near Hull.”

“I think I know _that_ place.” John mused. “If you think you may be dreaming, have you tried waking yourself up?”

“How’d I do that?”

“When I’m falling asleep in church, my Grandmother always pinches me really hard on the arm, and it wakes me right up. I don’t like her very much though, she always does it even when I’m not asleep. I think she likes to hurt me.”

The boy wrinkled his nose again. “People shouldn’t want to hurt other people.”

John nodded. “Then I shan’t pinch you. You will have to pinch yourself awake.”

The boy nodded and went to pinch himself, and with that he was gone. Simply vanished as though he were never there. John’s eyes were wide as saucers as he ran home to tell his mother. He returned to the cave every day for a week, but there was no sign of the boy again.


	2. J.C.

John thought about Kent a lot in the weeks that followed his strange outing. He had woken up, just as predicted, under the stairs in his Mother’s raggedy house in Goole, the only sign that he hadn’t been simply dreaming was the scent of salt in his hair, and the layer of still-damp sand on his feet.

His mother had clipped him round the ear for dragging muck in, but John could not bring himself to care. He had tried to travel to Kent again, but he slept dreamlessly for months, until he found himself, once again, exhausted from a night with Black Joan’s pack. Even in the kitchen, sat on the hard, dusty floor, his eyelids were lead-heavy as he drifted off.

When he opened them again he was lying on wood rather than stone, and instead of being dirty there was barely a speck of dust on the floor. He looked around him to see pastel coloured florals papering the walls, and bright blue curtains adorning the windows to match. Everything was bright and airy, and very neat. There was a single bed in the middle of the room, a bookshelf with numerous well-bound books on every shelf, and a writing desk fit for a child by the south facing window. It was the house of a middle class someone-or-other.

Quite suddenly the door opened, creaking as it did so. John jumped. Standing in the doorway was the boy from before, wearing a neat linen shirt and fawn britches, and with his dark chestnut hair brushed and coifed just-so.

“Oh.” Said the boy. “It’s you again.”

John frowned. “Yes, and once again I am somewhere I shouldn’t be with no idea why.”

The boy walked over to the desk, set down the parchment and ink he had been carrying before sitting down beside John on the floor.

“Well, since you are here again, perhaps I can persuade you to stay for lunch this time? Or mayhap brunch, since it is too late for breakfast, but far too early for lunch.”

John said nothing in reply, only staring at the boy guardedly.

“What’s your name?” The boy ventured.

Once again, John remained silent.

“I am John.” He continued.

John was quiet for a moment before softly admitting, “That’s my name too.”

The boy’s face lit up. “Well we can’t very well both be calling one another John. You shall have to call me by my surname, and I you by yours.”

John frowned again, but this time wiped his hand on his trousers and stuck it out formally. “Childermass.”

The boy grinned and shook his hand vigorously. “Segundus. Very pleased to meet you. Would you like to play with my toy soldiers? I was sent upstairs to practice my letters, but I would much rather play.”

“Toys are for children. I am nine.” Childermass said resolutely.

Segundus’ eyebrows rose. “Oh, well I am eight so I shall consider myself still young enough to play with toys. I may have to stop when I am nine though, if they are as childish as you say.”

Childermass felt shame colour his cheeks darkly. Segundus was so very open with his thoughts and feelings, and he felt terribly ashamed to have made him feel childish. Segundus did not seem to mind, but it bothered Childermass greatly.

“I would not mind playing though, if you wish it. It is your home.”

Segundus shook his head. “No, I shall find something else to occupy our time. When we first met I was out collecting treasures, would you like to see my collection instead?”

This peaked Childermass’ interest, and Segundus could tell, for his smile brightened immediately, and he went to fetch a small wooden box from under his bed.

“I find all kinds of things, but I only keep the most interesting.” Segundus said, opening the chest.

Inside was an assortment of things; a rusted key, several very well intact shells, what appeared to be cuttlefish bone, and some things which he could not even name. However, he was particularly drawn to a certain small stone, or what he assumed was a stone. It was rough like a pebble, but bright green and translucent rather than grey and opaque. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands.

“That’s my sea glass.” Segundus said brightly. “It used to belong to one ship or another, from a bottle or a lantern or a buoy, and then the sea and all the sand tossed it around for years until it washed up like that.”

“It’s lovely.” Childermass admitted.

“You may keep it if you wish.”

Childermass looked up sharply. “Truly?”

Segundus nodded fervently. “Yes. It shall be a token of our friendship.”

“Friendship?”

“Indeed, for we have met and spoken twice now, and we know each other’s names, _and_ I have shown you my treasures. I have never had a friend before, but that’s the sort of things friends do in my books.”

Childermass looked at the boy in front of him curiously before smiling back, and placing the sea glass in his pocket. But before he could say anything else he felt a sharp pain in his leg and woke up once more on the stone floor of his own house in Goole. His mother had whipped his leg with her wicker cane to wake him up, and was shouting at him for being as sorry a man as his father had been. Yet he could not say he was listening all that well, since his hand was wrapped firmly around the pebble of glass in his pocket, and his head was filled with thoughts of Kentish sea air and Segundus’ bright, smiling eyes.


	3. J.S.

The summer of 1782 was particularly unkind to John Segundus. It was the year the influenza came to Kent, the year he became terribly ill, but most of all, the year he lost his mother and grandmother.

He was ten years old.

His uncle was kind to him, in that he did not simply throw him out on the streets, as many a wealthy relative had done in the past when faced with an orphaned child, however the reality of the alternative did not please Segundus much more. Instead of his peaceful, quiet life by the sea, his uncle had him shipped off to boarding school in East Anglia. He had been allowed to take very few of his books, and it was only through sheer luck that he had managed to smuggle his box of treasures with him.

As the carriage pulled up to the drive of Bearce Preparatory and Secondary School for Boys, Segundus thought to himself that it didn’t look too terrible. It was not a large place, no more than an old manor house, yellowish grey brickwork and red roof tiles, framed quite pleasantly with creeping plants. However, his opinion soon soured as he saw the schoolmaster waiting outside the front door expectantly. He was a sour-looking man of at least three score years, with sallow jowls and a well-adorned brow. As he stepped out of the carriage the schoolmaster frowned at him.

“John Segundus.”

He swallowed nervously. “Yes, sir.”

“Do you play sports?”

Segundus shook his head. “No, sir.”

The man smiled cruelly. “Well, I’m sure the lads will be keen to teach you how to box.”

The schoolmaster, who Segundus learnt later on was called Mr. Binge, had been correct in that. Mild mannered as he was, Segundus soon became a favourite of the larger boys, to pick on and torment. He once again found himself terribly alone, and cried himself to sleep almost every night. It was after a particularly nasty beating that Segundus found himself somewhere he had not expected.

It was dark, just as dark as the boarding house had been, but it was dank, the smell of excrement, human and animal alike filling his nostrils. He gagged loudly only to find a hand clamped over his mouth. He tried to struggle, but his earlier injuries hurt him terribly as he twisted and turned, making him weaker with every effort.

“Segundus!” Hissed a voice in his ear. “Segundus, stop struggling! What are you doing here? You can’t be here!”

Segundus stilled, and the hand was removed from his mouth. He turned around to see a familiar face pressed close to his own. “Childermass! Is this Goole?”

“No, Leeds, now hush, or they’ll hear, and you’ll ruin everything!”

Segundus swallowed thickly, and bit his lip to stop it from trembling, but nodded, following Childermass’ lead. He took Segundus’ hand in his and led him through a winding set of streets, and down into the basement of an old house.

“Childermass, what is going on?”

“I was waiting for the fagger when you turned up, he’ll be out there not knowing where I am, or what to do next. If he gets clapped because I’m not there, it’ll be your fault!”

“You’re thieves?”

Childermass snorted. “Pickpockets, burglers, kencrackers, call us what you want. It’s my Mam’s business, so I have no say in the matter. It puts food on our table so I’m not going to complain. Not all of us have it so nice, Kentish boy!”

Segundus flinched at that. He wished he were still a Kentish boy. He longed for his little house by the sea.

“I do not live in Kent any longer.” He said.

“Oh, because that makes all the difference, doesn’t it.” Childermass replied unkindly.

He went to take Segundus by the arm when he cried out as though burned.

Childermass’ bitter sneer turned almost immediately to concern. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing.” Segundus replied, cradling his arm gingerly against his side.

“Show me.” Childermass demanded.

“Childermass, I promise you, it is nothing.”

With a stubborn frown Childermass hoisted Segundus’ shirt up as far as it would go and snorted furiously at what he found there.

“Who did this to you?” He said, tracing a finger gently over the blossoms of purple and blue.

“Older boys from the boarding house.” Segundus hissed as Childermass’ hands probed his tender skin.

“Boarding house?”

“Yes. My mother died, you see, and my uncle thought it best to send me to a boarding school.”

Childermass stilled. “Your mother died? Segundus…”

“I do not need your pity, Childermass. Everybody dies someday. She just died sooner than she should have.”

“What happened?”

“Influenza.” He said quietly. “We all got it, my mother, my grandmother, and me, but I was the only one of us to survive it.”

“Segundus, it is not pity when I say that I am truly sorry for your loss. She was a kindly woman, from what you said, and you cared about her a great deal.”

“I did.” He replied shakily. He bit his lip again, barely containing the uncertain wobble.

“It’s okay to cry.” Childermass said softly to him.

“Is it not too childish? I am ten now, the other boys tell me it is childish to cry.”

Childermass shook his head. “No, Segundus, it’s not childish, or weak. I have seen grown men cry over losing their wives and children. You cannot say that is childish, so why should you crying over your mother be any different?”

With that Segundus felt the hot, salty tears begin to run freely down his cheeks, and Childermass gathered him into his arms and held him until there was nothing in his arms but air.

When Segundus awoke the tears still stained his face, and the bruises still caused him a great deal of pain, but he felt better than he had done in months.


	4. J.C.

It worried Childermass that he had not seen Segundus since that night in Leeds. The result of his beatings had not been pleasant to witness, and he greatly regretted the harsh words he had said to him. He was a child, he was cold and hungry and stole to pay for his food, so he was bitter towards the only person who had ever shown him genuine affection. He was cruel when all Segundus had needed was compassion. Since then three summers had passed, and it was now the dead of winter once more. He only hoped that Segundus was still alive, though he thought perhaps this link they shared would have allowed him that knowledge, should it have passed.

So it was with great relief and happiness that one night he found himself in a strange room with many beds lain out in an orderly fashion around the room. Most of them were occupied by sleeping boys, but the one at the end was lit dimly by candlelight, and Childermass could see Segundus perched on the edge of it. He wandered over as quietly as he could and stood over Segundus

“What is that?”

Segundus jumped with surprise, much to Childermass’ satisfaction. “Childermass!” He exclaimed, before quietening himself so as not to wake him roommates. “Oh it _is_ good to see you! It had been such a long time I was not certain I would see you again.” Segundus said, his smile dazzlingly bright. “This is a book on magic that I found in an old bookshop in Cambridge. The illustrations are just exquisite.”

Childermass cocked his head to better see the book in his hand. “You take an interest in magic?”

“You do not?”

“Of course I do. I grew up in the North. Those were the Raven King’s lands, and his laws still abide there. I was simply surprised that you were.”

“Oh yes, how could I not! The feats of the magicians of old are just fantastical, are they not?” Segundus replied with not a small amount of awe.

Childermass was quiet for a moment, regarding Segundus carefully. “Are you well?”

Segundus raised a brow. “I am sorry, well?”

“It has been a long time since I last saw you, and when I did you were … that is to say …”

“Oh my dear friend, it has been a while, and I am quite well now. I was not the youngest and weakest in the dormitory for long. They soon found new sport.” He said, gesturing to the rest of the sleeping boys.

It was Childermass’ turn to raise a brow. “You still consider us friends?”

“Why ever not? Unless you would rather we were not?”

Childermass sighed and brought the small pebble of sea glass that he still kept perpetually in his trouser pocket. “If I wished that, would I still carry this around with me?”

Segundus’ face lit up. “You kept my sea glass!”

“Of course I did. That’s what friends do, isn’t it?”

Segundus lowered his head bashfully. “I suppose it is.”

Childermass sat down on the bed next to Segundus and glanced over at his books. “Were these all written by magicians then?”

“Not practical magicians, perhaps, but certain theoretical ones. They study magic, and pass on their knowledge so that magic may never truly die. Do you not find that admirable?”

“Aye, I suppose I do. Although a gentleman magician is rather different to the great magicians of old. The magic they did was all rooted in the earth, in the stones, and the trees. They could transform into animals, and make forests move. These men talk only about petty magic.”

“Oh Childermass, but all magic, petty or not, is magical nonetheless. Just because a spell isn’t grand, does not mean it is without its uses. Or do you believe that something has to be grand in order to be worth something?” He said, just an ounce of wry teasing in his voice.

Childermass looked at Segundus dryly. “Why yes Segundus, I am just the kind of person who would think such a thing.”

Segundus laughed brightly at that, and Childermass found a smile forming on his own face simply at hearing it. It made him flush to think how easily Segundus could make him smile. He spent so much of his childhood stealing and dodging the drunken hands of his mother and her male visitors that he had forgotten simply what it was like to be a child. When he was with Segundus he felt free again.

He was not sure how long they spent reading together, and talking about the many differences between Childermass’ Northern tales, and Segundus’ books, but the candle had long since stuttered out. They talked some more in the darkness, both laid out side by side on Segundus’ bed, until Childermass could hear Segundus no longer, and all there was was the drunken clattering of one of his mother’s partners downstairs.

He felt the loss of the boy next to him perhaps more keenly than he should have done.


	5. J.S.

It pleased Segundus unendingly that Childermass had kept his token. He was not certain entirely why, but he supposed it was because he had never truly had a friend before Childermass. He rarely saw him, in fact he was seeing him less frequently than ever. It had been another three years since their evening together in the dormitory, but it was a memory he kept close to his heart. Despite his tough exterior, Childermass had shown a softer side to him that night, one that laughed, one that talked about fairy tales and magic. Thanks to that night he had begun to keep a journal, one where he wrote his thoughts and feelings about English magic. About the Faerie, and the Raven King. About all the tales and myths that Childermass had told him. He illustrated every entry with all the sketches he could muster before his hands gave way, or his ink dried up.

He was writing one of these entries when he heard the door behind him shut with a thud harder than was strictly necessary for a door of its size.

“Oh, well boys, look who it is? If it isn’t our own little sodomite?”

Segundus turned around to see three of the boys from the year above him standing in the way of the door. The first was a stout boy, short for his age, but certainly making up for it in width, and with small, dark, mean eyes. The second was taller, and significantly more slender, with a carefully coiffed head of chestnut curls, high cheekbones, and a cruel smile. The third was just as tall as the second, but with broad shoulders, and broken nose that disfigured his already unpleasant features into a permanent look of distaste.

“Crawley? Hodges? Linford? W-what are you doing here?” Segundus said, closing his journal as swiftly as he could.

“Oh Segundus,” Hodges said with a wry smile. “We’ve heard all about your little indiscretion.”

A wash of cold fear came over Segundus as the three boys made their way towards him. “T-there must have been some kind of misunderstanding. I am sure I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Linford growled. “Don’t play coy, you skeevy molly.”

“Molly?”

“We heard from the poor boy you assaulted the other day that you fancied a lark?” Crawley grunted. “Asked for all sorts of sordid things.”

“I swear, I asked nothing of him!” Segundus pleaded as Crawley grasped the collar of his shirt. “Nothing that he did not ask for himself.”

“Hear that, lads? That sounded like a confession to me!” Linford barked.

With that Crawford swung at him, his fist colliding with Segundus’ face with a dull thud. Segundus cried out, but they didn’t stop, kicking and punching until he was curled up on the floor, trying desperately to block out the foul insults they were hurling at him with every blow. The last thing he remembered before the sickening crack was Hodges’ shoe making its way directly towards his face.

He was suddenly somewhere very different. All around him were vast expanses of scrub and heather, the odd windblown tree, and a rugged-looking river lined with brick building chugging smoke into the pale grey sky. He turned around to see that he was just outside another of the brick buildings, and he wasn’t alone. Standing in front of the door was a man, he looked exhausted, covered in factory grime and sporting a rough moustache and beard. The circles under his eyes were darker than Segundus had seen before, and he almost looked like an entirely different person, but the feeling in his gut told him he knew this man.

“Ch-childermass?”

The man looked up at him, confusion, delight, and then concern a shifting sequence over his features. “Segundus, what are you doing here?”

“I d-don’t q-quite know,” He mumbled in return. “But I am here n-nonetheless, and I am glad of it.”

“What happened?!” Childermass said as he stepped closer to examine his swollen face. “I thought you said it got better.”

“It had b- argh!” Segundus hissed with pain as Childermass reached out and touched his bruising cheek. “Please do not touch it.”

“Am I just supposed to leave it Segundus? After years of nothing, am I just supposed to engage in polite conversation and pretend that you haven’t been beaten black and blue? No, Segundus! Not this time!”

“Childermass.” He breathed quietly.

“Come inside quickly,” He said gruffly. “I’ll get something for those cuts at least.”

The building he led him into seemed to be some kind of house, but grubby and small, and attached to the mill next door. There was a coal-burning stove, a sink, and what appeared to be a barely functional bed. If Childermass was living here, he certainly wasn’t living comfortably.

“Why did they do it this time? Surely you are too old to be picked on now, you must be nearly sixteen.” He said as he returned to Segundus with a rag and a bowl of water.

“I turned sixteen last month.”

The look Childermass gave him could have withered the hardiest of plants. “That was not the half of the question I wanted an answer to.”

“I would rather not say.”

Childermass paused, damp rag in hand and looked directly at him. Segundus could see now how much easier his own life had been. Childermass was less than two years older than him, and yet the years were already weighing heavily on him. When he spoke, he spoke with a voice that betrayed the life experience he had gained in the years since they had seen one another. “Segundus, you are my friend, nothing you could say could convince me that you deserved this.”

“Nothing? You have yet to hear the atrocities I have been accused of.” Segundus replied, with more than an ounce of bitterness.

“Atrocities? You are as mild as milk, and one of the gentlest souls I have ever encountered.” He scoffed.

“Therein lies the issue. It appears I am too mild-mannered, too gentle… if I were like you, then perhaps I would not have this trouble.”

“What trouble?”

“They called me such horrible things Childermass, they called me unnatural!” Segundus said with a barely contained sob.

“There’s not an unnatural thing about you.”

With a final sob, he gave in, hot tears stinging the new cuts on his face. “Filthy Hylas! A Greek in the foulest of senses!”

Childermass was beginning to seem as distressed as Segundus was. “I don’t understand what you mean. Please don’t cry.”

“Am I broken, Childermass? Am I really a horrid thing?”

The wide-eyed stare of utter disbelief that Childermass gave him was enough to slow the tears. “I do not care what you have done. I do not, and that is the truth. You have to believe that.”

“How can I?”

Childermass cupped his swollen, battered face in his hands, and rested Segundus’ forehead gently against his own.

“Segundus, I…”

Segundus could still feel the warmth of Childermass’ large, calloused hands against his face when he woke up in the cold, bland hospital bed, and he wept.


	6. J.C.

It was the not knowing that hit Childermass the hardest. He knew his name, knew he used to live in Kent, but that he didn’t any longer. He knew the exact shade of his dark eyes, and the way his mouth turned up lopsided when he smiled. He knew about his dearest treasures, and the most secret of his dreams. Yet he had no idea where he was, or whether he was even still alive. He tried searching for him, but there were so few records of sixteen year old boys. He looked fervently for at least two years in the hope that he could find out something, anything more. His hands still tingled at the thought of their last meeting; the hot, bruised flesh under his hand, and the salty scent of tears and blood. He had wanted to kill whoever had touched him like that. Childermass had never wanted to kill anyone before, and yet he truly felt homicidal. Segundus was the kind of benign creature that should only ever be touched with affection and comfort. Anyone who dared raise a hand to him deserved to lose it.

That feeling sat under his skin like a persistent fever. He had lost his job at the mill for his absence that day, and he had found and lost several others since, but there wasn’t a single thing that really drove him. Segundus used to speak about his dreams, and even though they had changed as he got older, he always had a dream. His most recent, if Childermass remembered correctly, was to rediscover English magic. He wondered if he made any progress. If he was ever able to.

He travelled a lot, even down to the coast where he had once spent days as a boy, playing with his new-found friend. It was different now, less sunny, and less hopefully. As much as he loathed to admit it, it was because Segundus was not there to share it with him. He was like sunlight; pale and mellow at first, but after a while warm and gracious, bringing light and life to those whose lives he touched. It was a childish notion, but it was one that Childermass couldn’t shake.

He didn’t like the feeling that were blossoming within him. He hated how protective he was of this boy, this man, he barely knew. Yet, he knew him better than he knew anyone else, and Segundus knew him too. He had never been that close with any one other person. The thought that that person could be gone because of the cruel hands of spiteful schoolboys was almost too much to bear.

He had feelings for Segundus. Feelings that men had for women, but that he had for Segundus. He tried to fuck it out of his system, he even thought he had fallen in love once, but she was no more permanent than Segundus. The woman underneath him now was just another distraction. He was paying her well for it, but he loathed himself for treating her that way. She did not seem discontented with her employment, but then he never could tell the ones who were from the ones who weren’t. He wouldn’t admit it, but she had the same sleek dark hair that he had been imagining running his hands through for years now.

“Oh.”

Childermass stopped his rutting and turned his head to see where the noise had come from. The chill in his blood told him his suspicions were correct. Segundus was standing in the corner of the room, his eyes fixed pointedly anywhere but the writhing woman underneath him.

“Segundus.” Childermass said, with surprise.

Segundus only shook his head in disbelief and disappeared.

Childermass swore colourfully and removed himself from the woman, who complained bitterly at him for it. But Childermass found he could not care less. He felt unclean. Segundus was so bright and innocent and he had just seen something Childermass had never wished him to see. Anyone else he would not have cared about, anyone but Segundus.

He had searched for so long, but had found nothing, then there he was, as if nothing at all had happened. He was alive and well, and he had seen exactly what Childermass had hoped he would never have to see. Now he had lost him again, and had no way to get him back, or explain. He refused to wait another four years.

He apologised profusely to the woman, and paid her what he owed, and hurriedly made his way back to his temporary accommodation in one of the upstairs rooms of a nearby public house. He went through every scenario in his head. Every time they had met one of them had fallen asleep, or had been rendered unconscious. Every time there was something amiss in one of their lives. Segundus had come to him then because there was something wrong. He was lonely, or hurt, or angry, and Christ be damned if Childermass was going to let him spend another moment alone like that.

*

“I need some sweet oil.”

The man behind the counter of  _Dunnett and Dunnett_ pharmacy frowned at him. “Sweet? I have nothing of that ilk here, but I _do_ have some I distilled with lavender if you wish, Mr. Childermass. Perfect for relaxation, and the alleviation of ailments in the joints.”

“You know that is not what I am speaking of, Dunnett.” Childermass replied darkly.

“And you know I cannot give you that, John.” Dunnett said in turn.

“I need something to render me unconscious.”

Dunnett regarded him carefully. “Then spend the money on liquor instead. It will work just as well.”

“It will not, and you know it.”

The old man sighed. “Fine, but you will owe me a guinea for this, and a favour.”

“A guinea!” Childermass scoffed. That was just about all he owned. “Fine. Anything you want.”

He raised a brow suspiciously but said nothing, making his way into the back of the shop, returning with a small bottle with a glass stopper, sealed with wax.

“Thank you. I shall not forget this.”

Dunnett shook his head wearily. “Neither will I, boy.”

 

*

It was the middle of the day, but Childermass did not care. He took the bottle and unfastened the stopper. He soaked a piece of cloth with the contents and breathed through it deeply. Soon his room began to fade around him, and another appear with more clarity. The light streaming in through the windows was reflecting off the pale stone walls, giving the room a warm glow. Not a thing in the room was in order, there were books strewn all over the desk and the floor, and in amongst them was a young man. He was taller now, though not taller than Childermass himself, by his own calculations. His hair was tousled, but not unpleasantly so, falling around his pensive face. There Childermass’ eyes fell and lingered. Gone was the boy he had known, replaced with a man, cheekbones attractively shaped, but not sharp, with a quizzical brow, and a seriousness about his mouth that had certainly never been there before. His eyes were fixed on a page he was poring over studiously. He did not even notice Childermass’ presence until he quite deliberately cleared his throat.

“Childermass!” Segundus cried, started by his apparently sudden appearance.

“Segundus, I need to talk to you, about what you saw last night.”

Segundus appeared to have heard him at all, as his eyes had not left his face, and his brow had knit in thoughtful confusion. “I have never once seen you twice in the same year, let alone the same week, how on earth did you manage it?”

“Sweet oil of vitriol.”

 “You drugged yourself!” Segundus balked.

Childermass let out a small, exasperated noise. “I had to see you again. I felt it necessary to explain.”

The surprise had slipped from Segundus’ face, and had been replaced by a hurt kind of disgust. “It is true, I had not thought to see you with some Covent Garden Nun.”

 “And I had not thought you to be so judgemental.” Childermass growled.

Segundus seemed to open his mouth to reply, only to shut again firmly. With that Childermass felt all of the anger drain from him.

“I thought you were dead.” He confessed

Segundus’ brow furrowed in confusion once more. “Why on earth would you think that?”

“The last time I saw you, you were in a bad way. You disappeared so suddenly, and then I didn’t see you again for so long.”

“Childermass…” Segundus breathed.

“I tried looking for you, I did, but there’s only so much information you can find on a sixteen year old boy without folk growing suspicious.”

Segundus took Childermass’ hand in his own. “You were looking for me? I am truly sorry for making you worry, I had no idea you were so affected.”

“Affected?” Childermass said with a choked laugh. “I was terrified I’d never see you again!”

“Terrified? Why on earth were you terrified?”

Childermass said nothing, only cupping Segundus’ face in his hands and kissing him fervently, pushing into it all of the passion and emotion that Segundus had forced upon him all of the years he had known him. It was a clumsy kiss, but Childermass could not help it. He could not bear the thought of never seeing him again without doing it.

When he broke away Segundus looked like a startled deer. “Oh.”

Just as Childermass began to regret his actions Segundus lurched forward and kissed him back. They kissed like adolescents, messy and dirty. Segundus’ mouth was hot and wet, and the thought of it sent a shot of pleasure to him already half-hard cock. He had to quell the desire to rut up against Segundus, at least until he felt that his own pleasure was mirrored in Segundus’ own. He pressed himself closer to him, making his arousal known, and Segundus shuddered as he did.

“Oh, Childermass.” He gasped as Childermass rutted against him in earnest, sucking dark marks into the soft skin of Segundus’ neck. “P-p-please, there is a bed-”

Before he had finished the sentence Childermass had wrapped an arm around his waist and dragged him onto the aforementioned bed, barely stopping for a moment in his affections to do so.

Segundus reached between them both and slid a hand into his breeches, touching himself desperately. Childermass growled low in his throat, taking the hand in his own and working up and down their lengths together. Segundus began to rock his hips forward in a desperate attempt to garner more from Childermass. Pressing himself closer to him, Childermass ran his tongue, hot and wet, from the base of his throat to just under his jaw, before taking his earlobe into his mouth, and sucking and nibbling on it until Segundus was crying out his name and shaking with the pleasure of it. Childermass was certain that he had never been touched before, not like this, not like he should have been. He would be lying if he said he had not pictured this, if he had not imagined the taste and texture of his skin. All of those years searching for him, all of the brothels he had found himself in, and all that time he had only ever wanted to hear the noises he was dragging out him at that very moment.

As they were lying together in the aftermath of their joining, Segundus running an absent hand up and down his arm, Childermass realised that Segundus was as much his as he was Segundus’. They had been since they met in that cave in Kent all those years ago, and nothing in the world could have felt more natural.


	7. J.S.

After that time he and Childermass found themselves together more often than not. They weren’t sure what suffering drew them together after such short periods of time, but Segundus was certain it was heartache. Just the sight of Childermass now was enough to make Segundus smile like a fool.

It was true, things weren’t perfect, they had to hide their affections from the outside world, and they still had not met in person, but it was enough. Segundus was too engrossed in his studies to travel, and Childermass had recently entered the employ of a reclusive gentleman who collected books, and was unwilling to leave his small estate for anything. If they could have travelled to one another, they would have done, Segundus was sure of it. Sadly it was not meant to be.

It seemed that there were many things that were not meant to be, and others that simply had to. One such thing was the reception of a letter from his uncle. Segundus’ uncle rarely wrote to him, except to reply to requests for money, so the presence of this letter was enough to put him on edge.

He slid the letter opener under the paper and sliced it open with a trembling hand. Written in his uncle’s gentlemanly scrawl was everything Segundus had been dreading for as long as he had been of age. It was this news that drew the two together that night.

As was often the case, Segundus found himself in a small, dark room where Childermass was polishing his shoes diligently. Childermass was not aware of his presence until he stepped forward, causing the floorboards to creak underneath his feet. He looked up at Segundus, a smile tugging gently at the corners of his mouth. He put the shoes down on the bed and rose to greet him. Cupping his face with affectionate care, Childermass kissed Segundus. Segundus melted into it as he always did, but remained cautious. He knew that the news he had to share would not be welcomed in the slightest.

When Childermass pulled away, his brow was knit with concern and confusion.

“There is something wrong.” It was not a question.

Segundus found his hands tugging nervously at the fabric of his nightshirt, and was unable to meet Childermass’ eye as he spoke. “My uncle wishes me to marry. He has arranged everything.”

“Marry?”

“Yes.” Segundus replied shakily. “She seems like a pleasant enough girl.”

There was the barest growl from Childermass as he took a step back. “You mean you’re going through with it?”

The sight that greeted Segundus when his eyes finally met Childermass’ was enough to tear the heart right from him. He had never seen Childermass look quite as hurt, or as vulnerable as he looked in that moment. “I have no reason not to. No reason that I could-"

“No reason.” Childermass rumbled, his lip curling nastily, all hurt shrouded by barely restrained anger. “Is that all I am to you? Fine for a tumble, but not a good enough reason not to marry?”

“That … that was not what I intended-” Segundus stammered.

“It was what you said.” He replied darkly.

With that Childermass turned away from Segundus. “Childermass? John!”

“Leave me be!” He spat. “Go and marry that accursed woman, and stop plaguing my thoughts! You have tainted me with these unnatural desires!”

 _Unnatural._ Segundus flinched as though he had been struck.

“If I have tainted you, then you have only done the same to me!” He retorted.

Childermass snarled. “If that is so then you should have no issue with leaving.”

“Oh you ridiculous man! How your logic works I shall never know!” Segundus exclaimed. “Fine, I shall take my leave, but I shall not forget this, and next time we meet I expect a thorough discussion.”

“There shall be no next time!” Childermass barked in return.

“There is always a next time, John, you know that.” Segundus said, more softly this time. “I do not believe that this was a mistake, nor to I believe that you truly think that either.”

“Believe what you will, it will not make it true!”

Segundus took a step towards Childermass, but the man halted him with the barest shake of his head. “Childermass, please!”

“I have a master to return to.”

 

*

 

Childermass had been right, there was no next time. Segundus had spent the best part of a week in bed, trying desperately to see him again, but to no avail. He was not sure why, but there was a niggling suspicion in the back of his mind that it was because Childermass truly did not wish to see him at all. After that revelation he threw himself into his studies with more fervency than his tutors had seen from him before. He had graduated with honours, and had far better prospects now than he ever had done before, but he was not happy. Not in the slightest.

“John?”

Segundus was dragged from his thoughts by the beautiful young lady in front of him. Her watery blue eyes were looking at him with earnest concern. “I’m terribly sorry, Miss Paston, it seems my mind was drifting again.”

“Eleanor, please.” She replied, with a soft smile. It was not the first of their meetings since their engagement, but calling her simply by her Christian name seemed overly informal to Segundus. “It seems to do that quite frequently. I only wonder where it drifts to, or perhaps who?”

“Who? Oh, Miss Eleanor, I do not … I mean, I-”

“Oh John, do not fret. I am not upset. If your heart belongs to another, I can understand that, truly I can. This is not a marriage for love, although I had hoped that we might find it one day.”

The look of genuine sadness in her soft, round features seemed so wrong. It was true, Segundus didn’t love her, and probably never could love her in the way she hoped, but he would try his best to do right by her, and certainly never be the reason to cause such sadness to befall such a pleasant face. “We shall, Eleanor.”

“No, I do not think so.” She continued. “Your far-off look tells me so. How long have you loved her?”

 _Her._ Segundus sighed wearily. “We met when we were very young, on a beach in Kent, near where I grew up. We have seen each other barely a handful of times the past ten years or so, but in that time we have grown closer, and that closeness soon became … something else.”

Eleanor clasped his hands in hers affectionately. “Then why on earth are you not marrying her, instead of being stuck in this stuffy old room with me?”

“News of this arrangement … well, we did not part on good terms.”

“Oh John, I am sorry. Are you certain there is no way to salvage it? I will attest to the fact that we shall not be marrying, if it would make the situation any better.”

Segundus regarded her curiously. “We shan’t be marrying?”

Her laugh was bright, and clear, but sad all the same. “No, John, I think not. You cannot split your heart in two, and I would not ask you to do so. I shall let your uncle know that I made the decision to call off the engagement myself.”

Segundus squeezed her hands tightly. “Eleanor, I do not deserve this kindness.”

“You are a kind man, John. You deserve to be shown only as much as you have shown.”

His smile was small, but genuinely warm. “I hope one day you find a man who can love you the way you deserve.”

Her smile mirrored his own. “I hope so as well.”

Needless to say, Segundus’ uncle was not at all pleased to hear of the dissolution of his engagement, and despite Eleanor’s insistence that the choice was hers, Segundus soon found himself without the last of his family, or a penny to his name. Somehow that left him feeling freer than he had done in a long time. He took a job at a booksellers in Greenwich, and there rediscovered his love of all kinds of magical curiosities. He even frequented the small, yellow tents of the street magicians from time to time, standing in skewed lines along the streets. He spent a fair amount of money on a spell from one particularly grubby little man who smelled of dirt and ale, but did not regret it for a second, even though he could not get the spell to work for the life of him. He delighted in learning all he could of the Raven King that he and Childermass had spent an evening discussing all those years before. Despite his best efforts, and the number of years he searched, he could not find more than a handful of books about magic, and certainly none _on_ magic. It was this that lead him north, to join the most reputable York Society of Magicians.

Much to his disappointment this proved to be as fruitless as his many other searches. They mocked him for his questions, made him feel as foolish as a boy. He did, however, make the acquaintance of one Mr. Honeyfoot, a kindly soul with as much a genuine interest in magic as Segundus himself. They soon became friends, and it was in his company that Segundus finally discovered the first real lead to true English magic. A name.

Norrell.


	8. J.S. & J.C.

Hurtfew Abbey was much larger than Segundus had been expecting. Its oppressively large walls were made of light stone, and were littered with at least four score small windows, and topped with impressive crenelated parapets. However, despite its grand structure, it felt no less wild than the surrounding countryside.

He knocked firmly upon the door a number of times and waited patiently for it to open. When it did, Segundus’ mouth went dry. Standing at the door was a man, taller and more rugged than he remembered, his dark hair falling unkempt around his face, dark rings around his eyes, and his complexion more that of sour milk than he had remembered. Yet he knew this face, and he had known it for a very long time.

“Mr. Norrell?” Segundus said as forwardly as he could manage, although it felt weak and plaintive to his ears.

The man looked him up and down before shaking his head minutely and nodding towards the inside of the house. “Come in.”

Segundus followed dutifully, but not a little disappointed. He had been certain he knew this man, yet he had never met a Mr. Norrell before, and Norrell was certainly not the name that sat so certainly on his lips.

The house was exceedingly dark, and needlessly labyrinthine, but soon opened up into the most fantastical library Segundus had ever seen. Rows upon rows of books, all shapes and sizes and ages, lined the walls on every side.

The man Segundus had presumed to be Mr. Norrell announced them to what he had thought to be an empty room, however, on closer inspection there was a man in the centre of it all. Segundus’ heart soared. If this was Mr. Norrell then the other man could not be, which meant he _could_ be …

“Please show these gentlemen out.”

Segundus looked up sharply. Mr. Norrell was having them escorted out, and so soon! He looked desperately towards the rugged man, who pointedly avoided his gaze.

“Mr. Segundus, if I may have a word before you leave.”

Segundus felt his pulse rise as he nodded. “Go ahead Mr. Honeyfoot. I shall be with you presently.”

The man had a certain look about him, one of quieted curiosity, and not a small smattering of hopefulness. “Is Segundus a very common name where you are from?”

His heart had begun to beat more agitatedly against his ribs as Childermass had continued. “It is not. I have not known another.”

“I see…”

Feeling a surge of unnatural bravery Segundus spoke up. “Then it _is_ you? I’m not imagining it? I had thought it perhaps an extended fever dream, some Faerie that had taken my imagination and run wild with it, but I cannot have imagined your name, as well as your face, Childermass. You have not changed as much in ten years as you may have thought.”

“I … sir, I am not certain …”

“Childermass. John Childermass. Have you so readily forgotten my face? I had thought that perhaps given our last meeting, I might have left more of an impression on you.”

Childermass thought back to that time and felt his chest tighten. He had ruined everything, it had all been his fault, and after that the dreams had stopped. And yet here he was, right in front of him.

“Segundus.” He breathed.

Segundus flushed hotly. “I had not thought I’d hear you say my name again, but I am grateful that you have not indeed forgotten me.”

“Forgotten you? How could I ever forget you?” He said taking a step closer to Segundus. “You have haunted my dreams since I was a child. You, perhaps, are more changed than I. You have silver in your hair.”

Segundus flinched away as Childermass reached out to touch the greying strands of hair around his temple.

“I … I apologise. That was forward of me.” He inched back into the shadows as best he could. “You probably have a wife and family waiting for you at home. I shouldn’t keep you.”

“I never married her.” Segundus replied meekly. “How could I, after you…”

The cautiously hopeful look returned to Childermass’ face once more. “You never married her, but you did marry?”

Segundus frowned. “No, John, I never married.”

“I never did either. I couldn’t.”

Segundus looked up to see the hesitant smile burgeoning on Childermass’ face. “You couldn’t … so, you really do remember?”

“I do.”

“Everything?”

Childermass reached his hand towards Segundus again, but this time he did not flinch as he brushed a strand of hair from his face. “Everything.”

Segundus visibly relaxed, leaning into his touch. “Good. That is good. It would be rather traumatic for one’s first love to forget them entirely.”

Childermass stilled.

“I’m sorry. I have gone too far. I only assumed since you said … I’m sorry, I should learn never to assume. I know what you said the last time. I know you do not agree with it, we were young, and young men do silly things. If you wish to forget that it ever happened then I shall endeavour to do so as well.”

Childermass looked once again at the man in front of him, so much more grown, older inside and out, than the boy he had kissed all those years ago. Yet there was still that same kindly tenacity in him that had compelled him to kiss him in the first place. He shook his head fondly. “Love.”

Segundus wasn’t certain whether the man was questioning the word or not, because the way he was looking at him rather made it feel as though it were less of a question, and more of a confession. As though he were addressing him as such.

“Yes. Love.”

With that Childermass leaned in and kissed him firmly on the lips. It was not desperately wanting, but it conveyed all that needed to be conveyed. It was a kiss that said “I missed you”, and in equal parts “I love you too”.

“Are you not ashamed?”

“Of you? Of this? Never.” He said, kissing him softly once again. “Once, a very long time ago, I may have thought it unnatural, but since then I have seen so much that has been deemed unnatural that the unnatural to me has _become_ natural.”

“Magic?” Segundus said, suddenly distracted. “You have seen more of Mr. Norrell’s work then?”

“I have worked for him for a score of years now. There is so much more to magic than what you have read in all of your scholarly books.”

“Truly? Oh, Childermass, how wonderful! Could you tell me more about it? I live not far from here, you are welcome to come for some supper.”

“You have not seen me for over ten years and all you do is invite me to supper? I was wrong, perhaps you haven’t changed at all. If you live nearby, I have something else in mind entirely.” He said, grazing his teeth over Segundus’ earlobe. Much to Childermass’ satisfaction, the motion dragged a shudder from him, and a very gentle “Oh.”

“Well then, perhaps we can talk about magic afterwards.”

Childermass barked out a laugh and buried his head into the crook of Segundus’ neck. “Yes, my dear Segundus, perhaps we can.”


End file.
